JAY'S POV — THE NEXT DAY
Something was off the moment I walked into class.
Not wrong.
Just… shifted.
Cin held the door.
Actually held it—stepped aside, hand out, nodding once like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Morning," he said.
No grin. No comment. No audience.
I paused half a beat, studying his face for the punchline that didn't come.
"…Morning," I replied, cautious.
I walked past him, waiting for the snicker.
It never came.
That unsettled me more than open hostility ever had.
I slid into my seat. Dropped my bag. Pulled out my notebook.
Cin took the desk behind me.
Quietly.
When I dropped my pen ten minutes later, it rolled under his shoe.
He picked it up and placed it back on my desk without a word.
Just a soft tap.
I stared at the pen like it had betrayed me.
What are you doing?
I hated how my chest warmed—just slightly.
Hated it more that I didn't shut it down.
Across the room, Section E buzzed in its usual low static—murmurs, laughter, someone tossing paper—but Cin stayed… neutral. Almost respectful.
I felt eyes on me.
I didn't need to look to know whose.
Keifer Watson leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back like he owned gravity itself. He wasn't staring.
That was the trick.
He glanced at me like I was background noise.
Dismissive.
Uninterested.
It was infuriating.
Ten minutes later, he leaned forward suddenly, chair legs screeching just enough to make people look.
"Hey, Mariano," he said lazily. "You get a haircut?"
I didn't look up. "No."
"Huh." A pause. "Could've fooled me. Something's different."
I finally met his eyes.
They were sharp. Measuring.
Waiting.
"Maybe your perception's improving," I said coolly.
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"Doubt it."
Then—just like that—he turned away, starting a side conversation with Yuri, laughter following like I'd been dismissed mid-sentence.
Push.
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
Don't react.
The teacher droned on. Notes blurred. Awareness sharpened.
Cin passed me a sheet when I missed a slide.
"Page three," he whispered. "You skipped it."
I blinked at him.
"…Thanks."
He shrugged like it was nothing.
Pull.
I didn't like patterns I couldn't control.
David leaned over from the next row. "You're good at bio, right?"
I glanced at him—really glanced. He was earnest. Nervous. Not playing a game.
"I don't suck," I said.
He laughed. "That's a glowing review. Can you check my answers later?"
"Sure."
It came out easier than I expected.
Keifer noticed.
I felt it.
His chair shifted. A pen tapped once against the desk. Not loud—just enough.
When class ended, Cin waited for me.
Not hovering. Just… present.
"You heading to math?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'll walk," he said, like it was a statement, not a question.
I didn't argue.
Halfway down the hall, someone bumped me from behind.
Keifer.
"Watch it," he said lightly, hand steadying my elbow for less than a second.
Too brief to accuse.
Too deliberate to ignore.
"Relax," he added, voice low. "Wouldn't want you picking a fight before lunch."
I pulled my arm free. "You done?"
He leaned closer, smirk faint. "Depends. You?"
Then he straightened and walked off—easy, unbothered—leaving heat where his fingers had been.
Pull.
I stared after him, jaw tight.
Cin frowned. "He bothering you?"
"No," I said too fast. Then corrected, "He's trying."
Cin nodded once. "Yeah. He does that."
I stopped walking.
"You know he's manipulating me," I said quietly.
Cin met my eyes. No denial. No loyalty speech.
"Yeah," he said. "I do."
That honesty hit harder than defense would have.
"And you?" I asked.
A pause.
Then—"I'm just being decent."
I searched his face.
He meant it.
That… mattered.
By lunch, the room felt different.
David waved me over to their table. I sat.
Cin joined without comment. A few others followed.
Keifer didn't.
He stayed across the room, laughing loud, magnetic, untouchable—until my gaze flicked his way.
Our eyes met.
This time, he didn't look away.
He lifted his brow slightly.
Like he'd planned exactly where I'd be sitting.
Push.
I looked away first.
That annoyed me.
Later, as I packed my bag, Keifer passed behind me again.
"Careful who you trust," he murmured. "Some people are only nice when it benefits them."
I froze.
Then I smiled without turning. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."
He chuckled softly.
"Good," he said. "Means you're learning."
Footsteps faded.
Cin watched my expression change.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded.
I wasn't.
But I was aware.
And that was worse for anyone trying to play me.
Because between Cin's quiet decency, David's open sincerity, and Keifer's calculated push and pull—
Something inside me was shifting.
Not breaking.
Opening.
Just enough to be dangerous.
And Keifer Watson?
He thought he was leading the dance.
He didn't realize—
I'd already memorized the rhythm.
And I never step onto a floor without knowing exactly when to turn.
JAY'S POV — WHEN THE SKY DECIDES
The rain didn't start gently.
It came down like the city had finally snapped.
Sheets of water slammed against the school grounds, drowning chatter, swallowing the parking lot whole. Teachers waved us out early. Classes canceled. Everyone scattered like the bell had rung for survival instead of dismissal.
I made it to my car.
Barely.
The engine coughed once.
Twice.
Then died with a final, humiliating click.
I sat there, hands on the wheel, rain drumming so loud it felt personal.
Traffic outside the gates was a mess—horns blaring, headlights smeared into white streaks by the downpour. No way out. No way home.
"Perfect," I muttered.
I checked my phone. No signal worth trusting.
I leaned back, watching water race down the windshield.
That's when a shadow stopped beside my car.
I looked up.
Yuri.
Umbrella in one hand, jacket already damp, hair plastered to his forehead like he hadn't bothered protecting himself much. He knocked lightly on the window.
I rolled it down an inch.
"Car trouble?" he asked.
"Dead engine," I replied. "And dead patience."
He nodded once, like he'd expected that answer.
"Wanna join me?"
Just that.
No pressure. No smirk. No Section E commentary.
I hesitated.
Of course I did.
Then thunder cracked overhead, loud enough to rattle my bones.
I sighed. "Fine."
The second I stepped out, the rain soaked me through—hoodie heavy, hair instantly slick against my neck.
Yuri reacted without thinking, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders.
"Here," he said. "You'll freeze."
"I'm not made of glass," I protested weakly.
"I know," he replied calmly. "But you're soaked."
That… ended the argument.
We ran to his car together, water splashing up our legs. The interior was warm. Clean. Quiet.
The door shut.
The storm dulled.
For the first time all day, the world exhaled.
As he pulled out, I finally glanced at him properly.
"You didn't have to," I said.
He shrugged. "Didn't feel optional."
I snorted softly, surprising myself.
The drive was smooth—too smooth. City lights blurred past, rain streaking sideways. We didn't talk much. Didn't need to.
When we pulled up, I stared.
Apartment was an understatement.
The building rose clean and sharp into the grey sky—glass, steel, security at the entrance that nodded Yuri through without a word.
Penthouse.
Of course.
"Hanamitichi," I murmured. "Figures."
He smiled faintly. "Occupational hazard."
Inside, everything was minimalist and warm—wood floors, soft lighting, windows stretching wall to wall. The rain painted the city in silver outside.
"You can change," Yuri said, already heading toward a closet. "I'll grab you something dry."
He returned with a hoodie and sweatpants—neutral, oversized, clearly never worn.
"Guest stash," he explained. "Long story."
"I won't ask," I said, taking them.
He pointed down the hall. "Bathroom's there. I'll clean up in the other one."
No hesitation.
No weirdness.
Just boundaries.
That mattered more than he probably knew.
When I came out, dry and calmer, Yuri was already changed—hair damp, sleeves rolled up, making tea like the rain was just another schedule change.
He handed me a mug. "Ginger. Helps with the cold."
"Thank you," I said quietly.
We stood by the window, watching the storm together.
No tension.
No games.
Just shelter.
And somewhere far below, traffic crawled, horns distant and harmless.
For the first time since all of this started—
I didn't feel like I was being watched.
Or tested.
Or pulled.
Just… allowed to exist.
I took a slow breath.
And wondered—briefly, carefully—how long peace ever lasts when it finds you by accident.